choose your fighter - teen wolf hcs (merfolk, changeling, witch)
wc: 1.4k
pairing: none really, gn and fem options. mention of you interacting w stiles n scott
genre: canon lore expansion??
warnings: brief mentions of body modifications/shapeshifting, a lot of the women in your family are magic but magic is not EXCLUSIVELY for women and afab people
summary: have you ever wondered how your favorite mythical creature fits into the teen wolf universe? well now you don't have to baybeee! here's a little look into life as a mermaid/merfolk, fae changeling, and witch in Beacon Hills.
next up: selkie, swan maiden/swan shifter, and lauma (baltic witch/fae/woodland spirit)
a/n: I cannot stress enough that while witchcraft has a divine feminine energy and is typically a matriarchal structure ANYONE can learn and be a witch regardless of their gender or assigned gender. Witch!reader def ends up teaching Stiles a little bit of the craft later on.
Mermaid/Merfolk
Your nails always have a natural sheen that reflects the color of your scales, it even shows through nail polish. Your hair makes literally everyone jealous (Lydia will die convinced youâre keeping your holy grail product a secret but youâre just⌠like that). Youâre always a little too pretty in a very gentle and fluid way. You might not turn every head the second you walk into a room, but just like ripples through water, soon no one can stop looking at you.Â
In your human form, you ALWAYS feel dehydrated. No matter how moisturized you are, your skin and hair suck up water and hydration as fast as it can. You have a few little wrinkles on the inside of your nostrils, the side of your neck, and the side of your ribs. When youâre in your merfolk form, guess what those do?? Open up into gills. The inside of your nose puffs up and expands full of gills too, like the delicate little ones on the underside of a mushroom. Itâs cool though, because if your neck AND rib gills are closed off (meaning your in mer-form but out of the water) your sinus gills open up, letting you breathe air AND water.Â
Your tail adds about â of your height. I cannot do math so Iâll let you do the calculations. Someone 5 tall would be about 8 feet and change with their tail (this is measuring from head to the end of your tail, NOT including your fins). Optionally in human form you have a set of magic anklets that are permanently attached to your body that allow you to either control when you transform or at least give you a little more time H2O just add water style. You also have what I call âseparate save fileâ transformation rules. Basically your clothes (or at least your clothes on the bottom half) disappear/fall off when you transform (like how when the Kanima transforms their clothes usually disappear and they end up naked when they turn back, but werewolves typically keep their clothes when they transform)
Changeling
You were always a little weird. You felt it, other people could sense it. Some people reacted better than others. You probably donât have wings since changelingsâ wings get clipped when theyâre swapped out for a human baby, and youâd need to go to the fae court to grow them back which is⌠not advised. But wings or lack thereof donât make fair folk. The signs are all over you. The way your hair moves and looks in the sunshine, the way raindrops and snowflakes cling to your skin like they donât want to leave you. Itâs obvious in the way your eyes twinkle when you smile, and how any scars and stretch marks you have look⌠sparkly. Shimmerier than normal scars and stretch marks. Your skin kind of shimmers in general when it catches the light the right way - but only in natural lighting. Most people just assume itâs cosmetic shimmer powder in some kind of bath product or laundry detergent you use. No oneâs ever able to replicate the look of it though.Â
You have little creases in your skin under your shoulder blades where your wings were. When something is wrong the muscles attached to where your wings would be get knotted and cramp up. Youâve lost count of how many times youâll get random back pain right before something magical happens, good or bad. You werenât raised in the fae court, so a lot of your behavior and traits are intuitive. If you come from a more rule oriented type of fae, youâve always been the one teachers and parents use as a yardstick for good manners and politeness. But if youâre more mischievous⌠thatâs a whole other kettle of fish. You get this insatiable urge to just be a little shit sometimes. You donât know where it comes from, but it feels like you practically turn into another person. You giggle when someone trips, you watch in pure, shameless amusement when couples fight in the halls. You might get accused of causing harmless trouble here and there, but no one is ever able to actually call you on it. You have this jovial puckishness, this whimsical playfulness that makes it impossible for anyone to stay mad at you. Safe to say youâre more than happy to use this to keep Stiles and Scott (but letâs be real, mostly Stiles) out of trouble.Â
Your deep connection with nature and your glamour are both totally unrefined and intuitive. You were the kid that could just pick up birds and squirrels and pet them. Youâve never gotten sick from touching a wild animal, from petting and playing with them and feeding them. No matter how skittish, theyâre just⌠drawn to you. If youâre ever outside, there will be crows following you around. Humming birds just fly right up to you. Wild rabbits and hares will dart out of the woods just to cross your path and ask for a cuddle. Scott has even seen deer go out of their way to follow you around or just be near you. And there are certain times where your glamour naturally cranks up. Near midsummer, at every change of the seasons, under the full moon, at yule. Even at midnight every night, your glamour is strongest. You go from ethereal and intriguing to down right irresistible. When your glamour is cranked up, Stiles suddenly understands how easily unsuspecting humans get led into fairy circles.Â
Witch (generic)
Much like Deaton, youâre fucking quiet about that shit. All the women in your family have it. Morganâs touch, family in Endor, an Aunt Medea. There are lots of words and phrases for what you all know to mean the same thing. Youâve always just been a little bit too in tune with everyone and everything around you. And being from a family so full of women from âYagaâs side of the familyâ as youâve heard it called, things like precognitive dreaming, CRAZY heightened intuition (like youâre never wrong. ever.), seeing auras, even having a series of journals that youâre dangerously protective over along with a giant family journal filled with ârecipesâ and âcleaning methodsâ and âhome remediesâ is just normal to you.Â
You have all these little quirks and habits you just take for granted, not even knowing that youâre performing literal magic on a day to day basis. You gift Stiles two or three little velvet pouches one day, all tied up with twine, and tell him itâs just a good luck charm. You tell him to keep one with him, one in his car, and one at home. He figures youâre just worried about him with all the murders around town (even if he thinks you donât know whatâs really going on⌠you know whatâs going on. You just donât talk about it.) so he agrees. Safe to say he has a lot of questions for you the next time a werewolf tries to claw into his car to gut him, and it only manages to lightly scratch his windshield. Unfortunately for Stiles those questions will have to go unanswered for quite some time.
You donât call what you do magic, but you always seem to carry some stuff around with you, some things that youâre really, really attached to. You have a long, thin object with you at all times. Maybe itâs a hair stick, maybe itâs a stray knitting needle, maybe itâs just an ornate âback scratcherâ youâre emotionally attached to. Or at least, thatâs what you tell people your wand is. Yes you absolutely do hide it in your boot Alex Russo style. Another quirk of your family is that all the women have their own stock or soup pots they get on a certain birthday. Youâve never really been able to explain that away as anything besides âa family thingâ. As for the hand woven broom in your closet, and the one in your momâs closet, and your aunts, and your sisters and cousins and grandmas⌠well⌠you got those from Amish country. In upstate New York. And you⌠liked them so much you stocked up on them? Sure, thatâs believable enough. For now at least.
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Content warnings - Makarov being disgusting, references to SA(and like terms, like noncon use), reader is described as being older (Late 20âs - Older 30âs), drugging, body horror, dehumanizing language(Referring the reader as âitâ, dog, toy, and other dehumanizing terms), uh mild torture?Â
READ THE TAGS CAREFULLY PLEASE
Word Count - 5,118 (give or take a few, this is from google docs,,,)
Changelings were a rare breed of people, if they could be called that word, they werenât really people. Merely a mimicry.Â
A long time ago, when Makarov was still a child, there were plenty of them. But governments realized their power and tried to corral them, force them into being weapons. There were several large battles about it, and they were all so hard to keep track of. When the resistances started to fade, the government just said they had wiped out all threats to humanity, believing they had made the changelings extinct.
What they didnât know is that they made small towns. Communities that faithfully played the part, biding their time. Changelings had never gone extinct, merely gone into hiding to protect themselves.Â
Humanity believed them to be childrenâs tales, a weird fever dream which never really existed. Something to scare the younger generations into falling into line. A folk tale really, just like faeries or unicorns.Â
Makarov knew they existed, his town had several such changelings when he was growing up. He had even been friends with one of them, before they were pulled away. But, now was not the time for reminiscing. He had work to do.Â
Makarov tapped his pen against his desk, lost in straying thoughts. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
His men had been consistently getting taken down, to the point it was actively becoming a thorn in his side. He knew exactly who was behind it, that Price man had been an annoying little pest ever since the now-captain escaped his gulag.Â
The door to his office knocked thrice, a solid sound against the spruce wood.Â
âCome in,â Makarov called out, looking up the papers and plans scattered against his desk. It was a mess but he didnât care, he would clean it up later once he got an idea figured out.Â
One of his generals walked in, holding a file and looking rather smug. Makarov raised his eyebrow at his subordinate, already unimpressed of this swagger he exhibited. He would have to rectify that, he deserved respect and he was going to get what he deserved.Â
There was no way Makarov wouldnât let people below him treat him so casually. That was not how this worked. He would make sure this man knew it too. Later.
But for now, he was more interested in the file the man carried. So, Makarov held out his hand expectantly. The general calmly handed over the file, which was almost overflowing. He waved his hand, dismissing his subordinate, who took the leave quickly.Â
Good, he didnât have the energy to deal with hooligans like that today.Â
Thumbing the file open, his gray eyes scan over the pictures and documents. A shapeshifter, it claimed. Picture of you, the person, mid-transformation. His eyes gleamed with interest, scanning with more attention. This could be the weapon he was looking for. Makarov just had to find it, and bend it to his will.Â
Just like everything else he touched.Â
And he already knew exactly what you were. Not a shapeshifter as the files had claimed, but a changeling. One who could imitate other people at will. Perfect for infiltrating an enemy. Perfect for ending his enemies.
This was a rare find, indeed. He just had to jump into the opportunity.Â
Makarov leaned back in his chair, spreading the file out on top of his desk. The paper it was covering was unimportant compared to this. This was a perfect opportunity, he just had to take it. He read over the documents containing your personal information, where you lived, what your schedule was, what you did for work. It even contained information about your family. His men did good work, when properly motivated with a potential new toy.
That was only when he was finished with you, though.Â
He would use this treasure trove of information to plan. You lived in another country, annoying as that was. It wouldnât stop him, he had plenty of private planes. And depending how cooperative you seemed, you might get to enjoy the luxury with him. The best of his toys got to enjoy the fruits of his expansive wealth. If you agreed with him, of course.Â
But, reading your file and your history, he doubted you would. You seemed the fleeing type, which was all the same to him.Â
Makarov enjoyed breaking in people just as much. It was all the same to him. It just seemed you needed a tighter collar.Â
He hummed thoughtfully, tapping against the file, your file, again. He would need to do this carefully, lest he let his treacherous enemies find out his plan before itâs carried out. No no, canât have that. Heâll keep this close to his chest, maybe eliminate all of those who already know about it. That would keep it safer.
Sure, Makarov would lose a few men, but they were all replaceable. Even if it was annoying trying to ârecruitâ new people.Â
This weapon, you, he forces himself to burn your name into his mind, was not replaceable. Who knew how many other shapeshifters, changelings, were out there? He should investigate your family even more, to make sure he wasnât missing anything. It was rare that two normal people gave birth to a changeling - though it was possible if they both carried the gene.
When changelings went missing from the public eye, Makarov didnât blame them, not really, but he couldnât let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He had always been known to have a very, very tight grip on those he deemed useful.
And you seemed very useful to him. For now anyway. He wasnât quite sure what he would do with you after he accomplished his goal, maybe he could mold you into being a good bed-warmer for him.Â
Several weeks later, Makarov walked down the streets of a quaint town that was listed as your home. His hands rested in his pockets, mindlessly running his fingers over an object. It truly was a nice little community, though it was very wary of him.Â
It would make sense, he was obviously russian and he doubted this area got much traction. Combined with his nice clothes, yeah he stood out. Oh well, it didnât overly matter to him. He already knew where you were, thanks to the lacking-security cameras around town.Â
He moseyed along, taking his time. He wasnât worried.Â
Every piece of intel said he was half-way across the globe making a weapons deal, and while he technically was doing that trade still, it wasnât in person. And he had only sent his men to collect the goods, who believed he was there too. It was an easy cover, especially when he had been making the plan even more obvious. He wanted Priceâs men to go there and ruin it, really.Â
It was a game of chess and he was willing to lose a piece if it meant he could win the game. A noble sacrifice.
Anyway.Â
The spring air felt nice, warmer than he would ever be used to. He liked the cold more, as it reminded him of himself. Harsh and strong, perfect for wearing people down into what was needed.Â
Makarovâs gray eyes scanned over the scene in front of him, focusing once more on the task at hand.Â
There you were, as flawless as the pictures portrayed you. Well, if this was what you truly looked like. You only seemed some few years younger than Makarov, something he was not quite expecting. You looked older, maybe late 20âs through early 30âs if he had to bet on it. He was expecting someone younger. Looks like he didnât do enough research, but that was fine. Or maybe this was just your disguise, it was hard to tell.Â
He could do that research after he got his hands on you.Â
Makarov sped up his pace to walk beside you for a couple of steps, and you seemed unbothered by this. Your face was black, void of emotion to the fellow emotionless man. Though, he could tell you were still wary of him. Not that he blamed you, but you had no clue what was coming your way.Â
âMay I help you, sir?â Your voice is light, polite, but still void of any emotion. You were already an enigma to Makarov, no one was so nonchalant to him. He was someone who demanded respect.
âYou can. I have a⌠proposition for your,â he pauses, thinking over the word, âabilities. You could be very helpful to me. I can promise youâll be very well compensated and youâll be able to return home.â
Your steps hesitate, just for a moment. But enough that the Russian man noticed. Ah, you hadn't realized that he knew. You must've thought he was going to ask for directions, or some other mundane, tourist thing. Well, he was no mundane man.Â
âI'll have to politely decline. I'm quite content with my work currently,â Your tone was more clipped now, more impatient with him. âI wish you a good day, for I must take my leave now.â
You begin to speed up, but Makarov reaches out and roughly grabs your arm with a tight, unyielding grip. A grin grows on his face, full of malice. He loved a good protest, really got his blood pumping.Â
âUnfortunately, and not for me, you either come willingly or I will have to force you,â Makarov states clearly despite his heavy russian accent, authority dripping from his tone. His patience, what little of it he had, was running out quickly. âIt makes no difference to me.â
Your eyes widen and he can spot the exact moment the panic hits you. It's a glorious moment, truly, and he wishes he could slow time to savor it. Causing this panic is a rush of adrenaline that he openly craves. It's perfect and Makarov loves how much power he holds over you now.
You rip your arm out Makarov's grip, his nails leaving behind a nasty looking scratch. He can see your form already beginning to change.Â
A gentle touch was never who he was. He demanded and he took only for himself.Â
The first changes are subtle, hard to tell at first. It was things that could be easily overlooked, your hair starting to change length, your eye color changing, face beginning to tweak. But as your panic continued to build, they grew far more drastic. Your face was rapidly changing shape, reflecting faces he saw earlier in the day and then his own, and then another Makarov didnât recognize. Your hair also began to rapidly change, length growing and shortening, while quickly changing colors.Â
Then thatâs where it began to grow more gruesome.Â
More animal-like features begin to come and go, like a brief tail or wings, or slitted pupils.Scales cover your skin before being reabsorbed, ears curving but then flattening against the side of your head. It looked incredibly painful, though Makarov did not care how painful it was for you. Seeing a changeling this close, changing so rapidly, was far more interesting to the twisted man.
It's beautiful in the most animalistic way possible. Almost makes him wish you came willingly, so he could explore it more. To dig his nails in and force it under more pleasurable circumstances, really. But he could tell you were growing more agitated, and he couldnât risk you trying to attack him.Â
Though, he did bring a syringe for this specific reason. He reaches into his pocket to pull it out. This medicine, if it could be called that as it was more of a drug, was extremely experimental.Â
As a child, Makarov had heard there was a concoction to force a changeling to rapidly, continually change so long as it was in their system. Changelingâs system processed drugs differently than a normal human, otherwise he wouldâve just sedated you and moved on. But this would keep you incapacitated until he could get you back to Russia, as he had plenty of it to make it last.Â
Even as your pained screams grew, he still didnât worry. Your intense panic was already acting like a drug, your form trying to take on a new feature to protect you. Your bones were abruptly breaking and healing in just moments. He would feel bad for adding this drug to the mix, but you had chosen the route. He gave you an opportunity to come willingly.Â
But still, he wanted to watch you for a moment more. It was just so fascinating.Â
Makarov watches as your arms twist and bend in unnatural ways, breaking bones through your skin. Bright crimson drops down from where the bones stick out. Your eyes are shut, as if stuck in a walking nightmare.
You scream out, echoing in its ferality. It - you - sounds like a dying animal, really.Â
And this was only from your natural panic, too. This wasn't even from his concoction.Â
The russian was excited to see how much more you would change with his little drug in your system. He acts quickly, the needle plunging into your neck as he depresses the plunger. Pulling back, he watches as it takes over in your system with twisted curiosity.Â
You begin to grow monstrous, even in his eyes.Â
Your skin begins to open, bones protruding from the holes, turning into teeth. Seams begin to rip alongside your joints, forming eyes. They were wide with fear but crying tears of crimson color. Your limbs twist and turn, growing long and far more less human. You look like some sort of demented dog in Makarovâs eyes, one he wished to tame and force into being his loving pet. You were just the perfect thing for him.Â
As the panic grows too much for your mind to handle, your body falls limp and you fall unconscious. You werenât used to so many changes in such a short time. Though, even unconscious, your body still twisted and shifted.
Makarov sighs in disappointment, he was hoping for more of a show. It seems you were a little too weak yet. Oh well, he would train you well. You would become much, much stronger in a very short amount of time.Â
He would make sure of it.
Makarov goes over to you and picks you up roughly. You let out a weak groan and your eyebrows draw together, but he doesnât pay any mind to it. This pain is just a fraction of what he has planned for you. Since you wanted to defy him, he would seal his point that his orders were to be followed without hesitation with a more physical reminder.Â
He was not to be defied.Â
Your unconscious body is tossed none too gently into the back of Makarovâs vehicle. Thankfully, he planned for this and had his windows tinted darker than what was probably legal in this area but he didnât care for that. He got you into his care now, and while his care wasnât great, he would make sure you would do great things for him. Well, great in his eyes. He didnât care how someone else would see it.Â
After strapping you in, he began to drive off, wishing he couldâve spent more time in your quaint little town. Maybe sniff out a few more weapons to put into his toybox. He could always use spares. Just in case you werenât as strong as he believed you to be. He hoped you were, because finding replacements was never easy.Â
Some time later, you began to finally come to. Your head was throbbing and your body protested every moment you made. A groan forced its way out of your throat, struggling to gather your bearings.Â
Makarov watched passively from beyond your little âroomâ. It wasnât really a room, it was a grimy, dark cell. Heavy metal was wrapped around your limbs and kept you close to the floor, a safety measure for himself. He wasnât sure how good your capabilities were when you were more sound of mind. The Russian wasnât willing to risk it.Â
Though, based on your earlier reaction, he heavily doubted you were combat trained. You were too flighty, too tracked on running. He would have his work cut out for him on training over that base instinct.Â
But, he was willing to wager that you could be great under his iron fist. Once you got more used to your changeling abilities, which he was willing to bet you suppressed your entire life and only used them when you got emotional. Granted, he didnât have much to base off of this hypothesis, but Makarov would soon learn. This was all based off of what he observed of your reaction to him.Â
You were right to be scared of him, and Makarov would continue to foster that fear. It was better to be feared than loved in his mind, it kept people in line. It made his life easier.Â
As you started to gain your bearings, he could see the fear building behind your eyes. It made his blood rush. It made him feel powerful. Your eyes met his and became steely, which was no problem to him. He enjoyed a good challenge and you were trying to put up a fight. Trying being the key word, Makarov doubted it would last for long. He had faced far more tough challenges than you.
If anything, you would be more of a game to him.Â
âWhere am I?â Your voice broke as you asked, obviously trying to put up a front. Your head dropped for a moment, likely from pain. â...What did you do to me?â
âGave you a little something to help make you easier to transport,â Makarovâs voice was smooth, but void of emotion. It was almost slimy, it made a shiver go down your spine. âAnd to help me see how far your abilities could be pushed. It gave me a very good insight to you, really.â
Your eyes were so cold as you looked at him, which is what he was expecting. He knew you would resent him, even hate him, until he changed your mind. It would be a fun little side project for him, really. Something to fill the void of excitement.Â
âLet me go,â Your voice was steady, firm, with your brows furrowed, âI wonât help you - I canât help you.â
Makarov just raised a single, arched brow at you. This was interesting, the way you said it. Like you were physically incapable of helping him. Well, given how much pain you seemed to be in, it wouldnât be too surprising.Â
As it were, it seemed that changing your form too much caused you extreme pain. He imagined it like stretching a muscle you werenât used to using. Oh well, any muscle could be built up and made stronger - like what Makarov planned to do to you. He just hoped you wouldnât break before he got to use you, that would be a waste of his precious resources.Â
âExplain it to me,â Makarov demanded, his voice dark, âwhy you canât help me, or so you say.â
He just had to have his suspicions confirmed. The greed turned his want into needs, ones that were going to be fulfilled no matter what others said.Â
âI- I just canât-â You stumbled over your words like a newborn deer would stumble over its legs, it would be adorable if it werenât so pathetic to him. Though, it seemed your fear of him pushed you to keep talking, âI canât control it, I hardly count as a changeling, why do you think I was living where I was?â
Now that really piqued Makarovâs interest of you. Though, he was well of your lackadaisical attempt at playing weak to be let go. He knew you were powerful, far more than you knew yourself, he could just sense it. But he did believe you when you said you couldnât control it.
But you began to speak again so he dragged his attention from his inner thoughts to your words.Â
âWhen I get emotional Iâm forced to change, and it hurts so badly that Iâve never done it purposefully,â You blather on. He was already growing tired of your voice. Maybe if it werenât so fear filled, he might enjoy it, but now it grated on his ears. âI canât- Iâm broken compared to other changelings.â
However, you did answer his question. So Makarov would go easy on you, for now anyway.Â
âI see, Iâll have to train that out of you then,â Makarov says, mostly to himself. He had his work lined out for him, you needed so much training. So much shaping, changing one might say but that might be too on the nose. âI canât have you freezing up on me out in the field, or have your changes go wrong.â
Your eyes grow wide, but he pays it no mind. He pays it even less mind when you begin crying.Â
So, Makarov simply hums in assent to himself, confirming and planning in his mind, and turns to leave. A good couple of days in a dark cellar with no routine ought to shake you enough that he can begin training you to be a good dog that barked when he pulled your collar. Speaking of which, Makarov did have to actually check in on the progress of that.Â
He had begun to make it before collecting you, but it wasnât quite finished yet. He still had several more features to add to it. Features that would help keep you more compliant to his whims.
Your soft sobs are the last thing Makarov hears from you as he exits the cell.Â
Several weeks later, Price slammed his fist against his willow desk. It shuddered beneath the force of the blow, knocking his pen cup over. Several papers slid off of the edge of it.Â
âWhat the FUCK do you mean Makarov has a new weapon?â Price demanded, his eyes burning with anger that threatened to consume him. He had enough on his plate, he didnât have enough time to deal with the bloody bastard called Makarov.Â
He dragged a heavy, worn hand down his face after catching the expression on Laswellâs face. He blew out a breath.
âWe donât have the manpower to deal with a new threat from him, Garrickâs out on a mission is Slovenia, MacTavish and Riley are down in Las Almas again helping the Vaqueroâs round up the last of Valeriaâs men,â Price sighed, collapsing into his chair, which groaned under his weight. âAnd we both know Iâm no one man army anymore.â
Laswell, who had been letting Price rant, crossed her arms with a severe expression on her face. She had flown all the way to England to tell Price herself about this mission. It was too high stakes for there to be any sort of trail. Nothing could go online and any paper used to keep track of details had to be burned.Â
Thankfully, she had a very good memory. Laswell had been in the business a long time.Â
âNo, you arenât John, but we have to take this threat seriously,â Laswell explained with the patience of a saint, âMakarov canât be allowed not to be taken seriously, we have to put a pause on all the other things and deal with this first.â
Price sighed, for a second time, but sat up straighter in his chair. It was strange for Laswell to say to put a pause on all the other missions. She knew the work they did all over the world was incredibly important and most times, couldnât be paused.Â
Well, of course she knew how important it was. She was the one woman army who gave them most of their missions and objectives. What she said went, really. She was a woman to be feared, even more so than Price.Â
If Laswell said it took importance, it always did.Â
âHe took a civilian John.â
Priceâs eyebrows immediately shot up and he sucked in a harsh breath. A civilian hostage wasnât a new situation, but it was for Makarov. It was incredibly out of character for the Russian. The entire sitch seemed off. He wouldn't kidnap a civilian for no reason. Especially with him having a new weapon, well that couldnât be entirely a coincidence.Â
âHow long ago were they taken? Do we have contact with their family?â Priceâs mind was going down the mental checklist. Establish a timeline, protect the family, save the civilian. It seemed simple enough on paper but it rarely was.Â
As it went with everything in their line of work.Â
â3 weeks ago, based on camera footage, no known family,â Laswell responded, as if she was reading off of a paper. Knowing her, she had photographic memory and just hid it well. It would be handy, would help with remembering accurate information. âMakarov was alone, his forces were halfway across the globe doing a weapons trade during the time. We sent some men over there to stop it, remember?â
Price nodded slowly, tucking all the information away for later. He desperately needed a drink to deal with this, though. So, he got up and poured two glasses of a proper whiskey, sliding one over to Laswell with another firm nod.Â
âDo we believe the civilian is the weapon, for whatever reason?â He asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a sip of the whiskey. It burned on the way down, but it kept him level headed if he only had one glass like this.Â
It was whiskey or a cigar, and he had smoked his last cigar when Garrick left for the mission in Slovenia.Â
âChangeling,â Laswell stated simply.
Which almost caused Price to spit out his drink. âThose have been extinct for nearly 3 decades, Kate,â the âthat canât be possibleâ was evident in his tone. âEven if it were true, what evidence do we have to prove it?â
Laswell slid a burned disc towards Price, nodding at his near-ancient computer.Â
Price took the disc and inserted it into his computerâs disc tray. It loaded for several long seconds before pulling up a video. It was grainy and incredibly glitchy at first, though that might have been partially from the computer that was attempting to run it.
But then it fully loaded and Price could barely believe his eyes.Â
It was camera footage, obviously, so the view was poor and slightly obstructed, but what he could see was clear. Makarov stood in an impeccable suit as he, who Price assumed to be the kidnapped civilian, stood next to a monster-looking creature. Bones protruding from where your eyes should be and eyes ripping along the seams of your joints.Â
It was gruesome to watch, and made him sick to his stomach, really. And Price had seen all sorts of things throughout his years of being a SAS captain, but this topped it.Â
As the footage continued, your form became less and less human. Price could see the fear, the sheer panic on your face. The way Makarov stood there irked Price, the way the man seemed so nonchalant and unaffected to your fear and attempts to flee.Â
But as your body changed, you stayed frozen to your spot. Price wasnât sure why, you could easily flee. Your form towered over the Russian, who seemed to be watching with rapt attention. Price could see his mouth moving, but he had no audio for the video. God, how he wished he did.Â
Shutting the computer lid, Price finally spoke, âI can⌠see your reasoning for believing them to be a changeling.â He worked to remove the disc to give back to Laswell.
âSo, it is of utmost importance that we grab the civilian before Makarov can break them,â Laswell added, tucking away the disc in the case she had grabbed it from. It would be destroyed later.Â
Price nods slowly, digesting the words. He would need to pull his men back from their current missions to brief them over this new one. That would be a hassle, irritatingly so. The Vaqueros would understand for MacTavish and Riley leaving, as they truly understood the Britsâ scope of work. The captain leading Garrickâs mission would be less understanding, and would probably be a thorn in his side.Â
âIâll get the boys pulled back here, probably be back within the next 24 hours,â Price pulled out his phone, getting ready to make several calls. âYou should prepare the finer details so we only need to go over this once, Kate.â
Laswell nodded and took her leave, pulling out her own cell to prepare what Price called the finer details.Â
As Price predicted, less than 24 hours later, everyone was sitting in their respective spots in the briefing room. Ghost and Soap were more jetlagged than Kyle, considering they had a longer flight back. But, they had no time to waste.
âSorry for rushing you back so suddenly, boys,â Laswell started, laying down some encoded papers regarding all the information she had scrounged together. Her eyes were so tired, she had been up for far too long at this point. âWeâll make this briefing quick, get some rest, and then youâll ship out.â
Her tired, but sharp, eyes scanned over everyone. Soap was restlessly bouncing his leg, most likely trying to force himself to keep moving to keep from zoning out. While it wasnât in the file, she suspected it was undiagnosed ADHD. But that wasnât important. Ghost was silent and still, as always. But his eyes always gave him away, they were drooping more than normal. Gaz was tapping his pen against his leg, a focusing stim of his that Laswell had noticed a long time ago. Price leaned back against the wall near her, his arms crossed over his chest. Though she would never admit it, she knew it was his small way of self-soothing.Â
Everyone had their coping mechanisms, and she had never been a snitch.Â
After taking stock of everyone, Laswell nodded to herself. A near imperceptible motion.Â
âAlright, Makarov has taken a civilian, as youâve all been told already,â she started, taking a breath. âHowever, the civilian has been proven to be a changeling.â
âAnd we believe they will be his new weapon.â
A/N: Oh my god this took forever to type and edit y'all </3
I was in and out of the hospital a lot while trying to complete this (From previous surgeries gone wrong, we think it should be good for now and last longer than previously thankfully)
I've begun writing chapter two so hopefully that will be out quicker than this one but i make no promises!! Leave a like and maybe a comment bc i so badly wanna yap about this to people who wanna yap back
Anon requested: âđ§Ąđ§Ąđ§Ąđ§Ą Huge fan of your work đ May I please request a list of headcanons for Riverdale? The male reader is a faerie left in the human world and Toni's "brother", she's only one that knows he's a changeling. Reader is Sweet Pea's boyfriendâ
~~~~~~~~
Technically you are adopted. Not that your parents know that. They figured you were the sweet little human boy they adopted after a close friend died.
Your older sister Toni knew. She had seen a strange person take her little brother and place someone (something?) else in his crib.
Toni is a year older than you. She was five when she saw the switch between her brother and you. But she was smart enough to know that nobody would believe her if she said anything.
It wasnât like you acted different or violent. You actually stood out because you were fairly peaceful compared to other boys of Southside.
â> Before you went to Southside, most people didnât even know you and Toni were related. Her headstrong personality was a complete 180 of your quiet one.
Most people left you alone because of Toni. She was fiercely protective of you and would fight anyone who hurt her little brother.
Sweet Pea took notice of you when you got into high school. Toni brought you to sit with her during lunch on your first day and he wasnât quite sure what to make of the quiet newcomer.
The more he got to know you, the more he liked you. Sweet Pea asked Toni for permission to date you and she agreed while threatening to kill him if he hurt you.
Sweet Pea took you to Popâs on your first date. He was extremely nervous, but nonetheless he managed to make it go smoothly.
â> Toni and Cheryl spied on the two of you, under the guise of also having a date that night. You thought it was sweet of your sister, but it might be making Sweet Pea more nervous.
When you made it official, Sweet Pea made it known that you were his boyfriend, and anyone who messed with you risked a beating from him.
You were still figuring out how to tell Sweet Pea you werenât human, but for now you enjoyed taking your relationship one day at a time.
~~~~~~~~
I donât own the above gif, all credit goes to the owner.
Changeling!reader story ideas (thinking like a 5 chapter story)
Option 1: readerxgaz route
- Reader is a recruit that's trying to hide their changeling nature, and is inexperienced with their powers. Eventual ReaderxGaz
Option 2: readerxprice route
- Reader is an established 141 lieutenant operative, established as human. They get captured by enemy soldiers to be an experiment and become a changeling. Established ReaderxPrice
Option 3: ghostxreader route
- Civilian!reader, taken as a hostage by Makarov. He plans to use your changeling nature against the 141. This is a major angst route and will have several hurt/no comfort chapters, eventual ReaderxGhost
Option 4: readerxsoap route
- Independent operative!reader who works with Laswell to establish missions where their changeling nature is useful. Soap meets you while you are undercover with Valeria's men, eventual Reader x Soap.
Option 5: Mix and mash!
Like a scenario but want it with a different character? Comment! Or thought of a scenario with a character that wasn't mentioned! Comment! I love hearing everyone else's ideas
Changeling reader is not going to be having a fun time :)
The first chapter is from Makarov's POV, so i've been tryna focus on that so reader's emotions aren't super touched on (but will be in a later chapter!!)
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I got the outline for the changeling!reader story done, and hoo boy, it'll be a long one!
It'll be 6 chapters, with varying pov's and tons of characters, and each chapter will be a minimum of 5k words(except maybe the epilogue, as it'll just nicely tie up all the loose ends from previous chapters). And it is Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, as promised and does follow the general storyline from the poll post. It will also cover some heavy tags, so check each chapters tags before reading
That said, enjoy how i outline my larger projects:
Aka, sticky notes taped to my wall so I don't lose them lmao
So I'm always tossing about how to write a gn character/reader in more intimate scenes to my friends and one of my friends just goes, "why not make them a changeling? [They] could change to be whatever you needed to be and since they change so much it would inherently make them gn"
Tldr; my friend is smarter than me
How did I never think of this??? Anyone interested in a changeling reader fic?? Toss some ideas to me in my askbox or dms bc this could turn out to be an interesting idea :)